Bedwrecker(89)

Interest piqued, he stands straight and nuzzles my neck. “Oh yeah, should I try to guess?”

I throw my head back. “Go for it.”

“Whipped cream for me to eat off your hot pussy?” He nips at my ear.

Laughing, I shake my head. “No, but I like that idea.”

“Chocolate syrup for me to lick off your gorgeous tits?”

Pushing that lethal tongue of his away before I decide to jump on it, I pat my hair with the towel. “Stop. You’re making me hungry and horny at the same time. I’ll save you the trouble of guessing. It’s on the bed.”

Okay, so I think I purred that.

Strutting over to the bed, he picks up the book that I might have sticky-marked already with some suggestions.

Kicking his shoes off, he flops on the bed and with complete focus starts to look through it. Gracie barks, wanting attention, and Keen pats the bed for her to join him.

Once I’ve dried my hair, I consider pulling on a pair of elephant-sized leggings, but think twice of it. Instead, I leave my panties off and traipse over to sit beside Keen, and give Gracie a little pat.

I point to one of the drawings on the page he is studying. “How about that one?”

He strokes his chin. “You think? I’m not sure about the leg placement.”

Always so analytical.

Always going right to the bottom line.

As if he’s measuring the distance of the angles or something.

With a shake of my head, I giggle and toss the book aside, throwing myself back on the mattress and bringing him with me. “Let’s make something up.”

Gracie starts barking again. She doesn’t like it when she’s not getting any attention, and Keen has to usher her out of the room and close the door.

As soon as he returns, he resumes his place hovering on top of me, and his hands wander up my shirt to find my breasts. “You were saying?”

“That we should make something up on our own,” I breathe out.

“Sounds like a plan,” he growls.

It’s not an exaggeration that we have sex at least twice a day. Weekends sometimes more. Today is Saturday, so that’s good news. We already did it this morning, and it’s only early afternoon now; therefore this day will definitely be at least three times.

Together, we make fast work of stripping off his clothes and then my T-shirt, and soon we’re both naked.

His lips trail down my neck, over my breasts, and stop to kiss my belly button, then just below it. He kisses the baby like this all the time. It gives me those damn butterflies that I’ve come to adore.

When his fingers drift down to circle my clit, and right away he can feel how wet I am for him, he pulls me to the edge of the bed and then gets off the mattress and onto his knees.

I let out a long, heavy breath, knowing soon my body will be hovering on the brink of bliss, waiting for the crashing pleasure to strike.

The mattress creaks as he puts a hand on each of my thighs, and he looks up. “You should have told me when I walked in you were wet—I would have taken care of this right away.”

Taking his gorgeous face in my hands, I stare into his blue eyes. “Keen Masters, if I told you every time you made me wet, your face would be permanently attached to my pussy.”

He raises the sexiest brow. “Not a bad way to live.”

Leaning back, I open myself up for him. How the hell did I get so lucky to find a man like him?

As he’s nuzzling my thighs, then deeper, finding my clit with his lips and tongue, I close my eyes to give myself up to him. Under his control, I submit to the pleasure. Every suck, every lick, every nibble more delicious than the last. Soon he’s adding a finger, then another, and then an impossible third.

I open my eyes and watch him move. I can’t see his face in my pussy, but I can see his back, his ass, and his feet, all perched below me to please me.

Like I’m the queen and he’s here to please only me.

My heart zips around my rib cage and I inhale sharply as soft, velvety-smooth strokes lap around my clit and an even more intense tingling radiates from my core.

Oh God, that mouth.

That tongue.

Soon orgasm blinds me and I have to slam my eyes shut.

Pleasure bursts inside me, and all around I see stars. “Keen,” I call out, then, “Oh God, Keen,” even louder, as a second wave of climax rips me up and scatters me, like rose petals blowing in the wind.

With heavy-lidded eyes, Keen rises to his feet. Then, shifting us both, he lies beside me. He kisses me and he tastes of me, of my desire. When he pulls back, he gazes into my eyes. “I love you, Maggie Masters. You wreck my bed every day, and I will never get enough of it.”

Tears spring to my eyes. Oh yes, the hormonal part of pregnancy that I can’t control. “I love you too, Keen Masters, and I am so lucky to be your little bedwrecker.”